


Serendipitous Symphony

by AchillesLament (11Mydesign11), You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am



Category: Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky (2009), Deadline Gallipoli (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: 1900s, Alternate Universe - Music, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom!Ellis, Falling In Love, First Meetings, First Time, Forbidden Love, Hannibal Extended Universe, Infidelity, Jealousy, Journalism, M/M, Musical References, Paris (City), Piano Sex, Scandal, Secret Relationship, Top!Igor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-04-26 14:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14404119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11Mydesign11/pseuds/AchillesLament, https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am/pseuds/You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am
Summary: It's 1913, and Igor Stravinsky and his wife move in to a journalist's, Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett's, home. Will he prove useful in aiding Igor in finding muse and continuing his controversial career? Or will passion, jealousy, and forbidden desire bring it all tumbling to the ground?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We did our best to get the language of that time down, but forgive us any errors. Also, our goal was to sort of blend the two movies together, while making it our own.

Ellis Ashmead Bartlett was the kind of name that sounded exactly like the man it belonged to - superior, flamboyant, posh, arrogant, perhaps just a bit too much, but not necessarily ill-deserved, certainly not in his mind. He was the sort of man you either loved or hated. 

Silky, sable hair and sapphire eyes, a thick, cosmopolitan mustache and devilish smile, and permanently flushed cheeks gave him a boyish blush that had a tendency to make young ladies swoon and rich married ones send drinks scandalously to his table. Ellis ate up the attention, flirting shamelessly with men and women alike, though his preference was exclusively men. He’d certainly offer a smile to anyone to get something he wanted.

He’d charmed his way through many situations that would have certainly gotten many at best with a drink thrown in their face, at worst hanged, but where his charm failed him, his money served him well, and he had both in spades.

His good friend Lester Lawrence had warned him against his propensity for ill-conceived adventure, but he’d refused his advice, deciding he wanted to try exercising the English degree he’d worked not quite that hard for and try journalism, running off to be a war correspondent with the British and Allied troops. But Ellis’ refusal to ever back down and dogged determination to get his way at any cost finally ran aground when a high ranking general decided he was not at all impressed with the spoiled brat routine and unceremoniously sent him packing, straight back to London.

Ellis found himself sipping his tea at the breakfast table, legs crossed in his gold and blue brocade robe as he read that morning’s paper. It was May 30, 1913. Suddenly a particular article caught his eye, and immediately he threw down the paper and jumped up to get dressed and head over to see Lester.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” a muffled voice came through the door as Ellis rapped on it rapidly. A moment later, a young man looking much too tired for his age opened it. “The devil is it now, Bartlett?”

“Have you read the papers?” Ellis asked excitedly, pushing him aside and walking straight in.

“Please, come in,” Lester quipped back sarcastically. “I’ve just put the kettle on, if you…”

“It’s an absolute scandal at this new theatre house in Paris! A riot! This one’s surpasses Debussy’s  _ graphically erotic _ L’Après-midi d’un faune. It’s this...this Russian...Stravinsky. He’s got this piece with the Ballets Russes…”

“Since when have you taken such an interest in music?” the other man asked, taking down a second tea cup.

Ellis sat down, shaking his head in wonder. “This is sensational.  _ The most dazzling house I’ve ever seen...the smart audience in tails and tulle, diamonds and ospreys, was interspersed with the suits and bandeaux of the aesthetic crowd. The dancer Dame Marie Rambert remembered that “a shout went up in the gallery: 'Un docteur!’”. It’s uncertain what started the outrage - pulsating rhythms, cacophonic, strangled woodwinds or savage dancing.  _ Apparently he’s trying to call it an immersion of human emotion but this is simply...this is simply astonishing and I must witness this for myself,” he  declared, blue eyes wide and bright.

Lester adjusted his glasses and set a cup of tea in front of his friend. “You’ve only just lost one job and now you’re diving into the next?”

Ellis lit a cigarette casually. “You know I have that villa outside Paris simply gathering dust. Why not stay there while I go see for myself what all the fuss about this Stravinsky chap is about, eh? I’m curious. All this talk about the passion of human emotions and all. Besides, I’m a _ journalist.  _ There’s certainly a story here and these bloody amateurs are not capturing all there is to it, you know they aren’t.”

Lester took off his glasses and rubbed a hand over his face. He knew when his friend was set upon something there would be no dissauding him. “Well here’s hoping it’s  _ your _ article I read and not one  _ about _ you…”

Ellis chuckled dryly. “Have a little faith in me, old friend. You know I’m never wrong…”

***

1913 was a year that Igor Stravinsky hoped and knew would be of the most importance - not that the years gone by had been less so - but his Ballets Russes was a masterpiece, and he knew it. The dancers had failed them the opening night but this one he was sure would be quite the show. It had been assured to him that everyone was ready.

Composing in a hotel in Paris wasn't every man's hope for his life, nor his family, or the family he hoped to have with his wife, Catherine.

The night finally came and he watched side stage this time, his face set serious, eyes subtly narrowed behind circular glasses. The show began and the soft melody filled the theater. People seemed pleased, or maybe bored initially, until the dancers picked up their pace and the music increased in tempo, reflecting the feelings of the performers.

That was how Igor wrote, or played. He didn't get his initial ideas by starting with paper and pen, no he had to play the music, feel it in the keys. Sometimes it would work, others it wouldn't. Like a cool breeze on a warm day, it would often just waft in, and illuminate him, as though the sun were beaming down on his fingers and the piano alone.

The crowd began to boo, yet again, as they had the first time but Igor was a proud, confident man. He was patient to a degree, somewhat, and he knew eventually the world would come to love and appreciate his pieces. This time, police were already ready since the last perfomance had gone amiss. 

A few people got out of hand and they were dealt with, but Igor stood fast until the end. When the lights came back up, he wasn't met with applause, or it was more mixed but he did nothing. His face remained the same as he contemplated. The only real indication was a slight twitch of his moustache before he went back to his dressing room. Little did he know that there was at one admirer out in the crowd. A journalist.

When Igor opened the door to his dressing room his wife was sitting inside, her red hair swept back into an elegant updo. She had a simple sort of beauty, it was hidden in the notes of her heart, and that was why he loved her. Admittedly, they hadn't been intimate in quite some time, and had fallen to something more akin to a deep friendship. A love that was more designed for those married many, many years.

She was submissive but strong, a dutiful spouse, and she merely smiled at him. His reply was merely a stare, a twinkle in his eye as he lit up a cigarette. His biggest crittite of his music, she helped him often, and as a result had been loyal even if there was much missing in his eyes. It made working on his pieces that much better, more rewarding, and passionate.  

***

Igor's wife had been taken back to their hotel in the light of her recovering condition - she'd been quite ill with a disorder of the lungs but was slowly progressing. She often stayed in bed though, or slept to heal. The doctor had said it could take months more before she was whole again, and only then could they try for a family.

With her tucked in bed, he went back out into the city. A soiree of sorts after the big show. It would be time to socialize and find out what societies elite and unique thought. Journalists were allowed in as well, but only a select few.

After half an hours times, Igor caught sight of a young man, likely a journalist with dark hair, light eyes, a moustache like his own, and impeccably dressed. He seemed to be charming quite a few guests there. Igor took a deep pull from his cigarette, then returned his attention back to the man with whom he was speaking. A moment later, he felt eyes on him, so he turned around to see the very same man standing before him.

“Maestro, Ellis Ashmead Bartlett, Fleet Street and The Daily Telegraph,” Ellis began by way of introduction, transferring his cigarette into his champagne hand and extending the other to shake Mr Stravinsky’s. What an extraordinary man he was. Divine. Exotic. Striking. Arresting. Deep set, blood red eyes, intense, hidden behind wire-rim glasses, perched over a narrow nose and the sharpest cheekbones he’d ever seen outside a painting. Lush, full, sensual mouth. Such a severe face yet one that appeared to be containing a torrent of passion. After the performance he’d just witnessed - one that had absolutely taken his breath away - it didn’t surprise him in the least that this was the man behind such a composition.

Igor looked at Mr Bartlett up close, his eyes set on his beautiful face. Beautiful for a man, or anyone really and he’d never given though to the male form before the eve of this day’s events. He plucked his own cigarette from his full lips, and offered his hand to give a proper, but firm shake, his posture strong and broad, unwavering. “Hello, Mister Bartlett,” he said low and rumbling, noticing the flecks of green amidst the blue, the golden halo around the pupil. “I assume you’re here to write about the show’s success?”

Ellis smirked and puffed at his cigarette coyly. “You’ve certainly succeeded in getting many people’s attention, though from the papers in London, it’s quite the scandal. Many are saying you’re quite finished. I had to come see and hear for myself, what it was all about, but further the man that’s aroused such a passion in even the liberal theatre goers of Paris. You’d think if any would be open minded, it’d be this lot,” he quipped, looking around the room at the bawdy laughter of men and drunken flapper girls, dresses drifting off-slim shoulders, laughing carelessly and dangling off the arms of their lovers.

“Finished? No,” Igor said, having intended on being a bit cross, but the coy way Ellis spoke, his mannerisms, intrigued him. At the latter part of the comment, he looked around as well, one woman with her breast hanging out, and of course he agreed. It was the very emotion he often conveyed in his music. Chaos, love, death, life. It was all there in the poignant notes, and vibrational rhythms and yet the crowd had failed to appreciate it. Inwardly, it was disheartening, but it only pushed him to continue. None of this showed on his face as he took another draw of his cigarette, licking his lips. “You would think, yes, but not everyone has the ear and eye that those like you and I do.”

Ellis leaned closer to Igor and smiled. “I have to admit, I rather enjoyed it a lot. All that throbbing, pulsing bass and rhythm, gets the blood pumping, stirs the imagination and creates such a vision both on stage and in the mind. The choreography was certainly captivating, but when I closed my eyes, it was the images my own mind drew from your music that compelled me the most.” He pulled back slightly, shoulders back and chest puffed out, and took an elaborate drag on his smoke, shaking his head in admiration. “You’re ahead of your time. People may scoff now, but soon you’ll break through. Sooner than you might think too. You can feel it in the air.” the brunet hummed with energy and touched Igor’s arm.  

Igor watched the animated journalist, and when he felt the hand on his arm, his bicep flexed with it, instinctively. He didn’t shy away, even if he felt eyes on them. Just a friendly conversation, and considering how intoxicated most of the guests were, he didn’t think it would be of any consequence. Finally, he smiled, a sort of almost shy thing, which was a stark contrast to his ego - even if it wasn’t overpowering. Only if he was angry, then it was obvious but beyond that he would contemplate his troubles. It seemed like Ellis really did understand his music, he felt it, just as he, himself, did. “I would find myself more well known if others were able to see the same, Mr. Bartlett. Your support is appreciated. What will you be writing in your article I wonder?”  

Ellis gave a charming smile again, dipping his chin to try and catch that shy, amber gaze. How positively lovely. It was almost like this man was unaware of his exquisite beauty and allure, the power of the presence he carried. “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see. I think if you aren’t opposed, I’d like to interview you, perhaps in a more...quiet, appropriate venue. Say, the  _ Jardin des plantes _ ? It’s a nice botanical garden, perfect for a quiet walk? Tomorrow, afternoon? Say noon? We can have a nice cup of tea, or coffee if you like,” he offered. “I promise, I only bite...if you ask nicely,” he said with a cocky wink.

Igor wasn’t used to such overt flirtation, and certainly not from a gentleman. He felt a heat in his groin that had not at all been expected. He smiled shyly at Ellis at the reply to his article. “So I will. As for your offer, I’m not opposed, not all” he rumbled, with a nod and  quiet smile. He didn’t comment on the biting, such things couldn’t be discussed even if the company around them was occupied with their own scandals and debauchery, but the lick of his lips told a lot, as did the twitch of his mustache, the burning flame in his eyes. “I will meet you at noon, Mr Bartlett.”  

Ellis own gaze darkened as it drifted to those sensual lips. The contrast of such severe features and such a lush mouth were beyond intriguing to the man, and he quirked a brow, darting a pink tongue out to sweep over his own lips before smooth long fingers out over his facial hair. “I wouldn't miss it for the world, my good man. Until then,” he said, a broad smile breaking out, eyes twinkling as he extinguished his cigarette in a nearby ash tray and reached out to capture the other man’s hand to shake it before he had a chance to extend it in offering. Palm against palm, he felt a spark between them, and he squeezed a moment before releasing it. “See you then,  _ Maestro _ ,” he nearly purred, leaning in close to his ear and brushing close against him before moving into the crowd.

Igor didn’t have time to do more than nod before the intriguing man was gone. He felt...shaken, or affected. An emotion that might serve him well when composing. Ellis had a way about him that he had not encountered before. All there was left to do now was to finish this gathering’s obligations and return back to the hotel to see his wife.

***

The next day, Igor stood in the center of the garden, earlier than arranged to give him to time to acclimate to the location. He stood still with his hands in his pockets, hair slicked back under his dashing hat, tan trousers, and vests atop a white shirt and bow tie. Looking around, he noted that while the flowers were beautiful, he more curious and eager to see the vivacious gentleman again, Mr Bartlett again.

Dressed in a crisp, dapper, cream colored three-piece suit and matching hat, Ellis strolled through the garden until he caught sight of the tall, distinguished man. His heart beat a bit faster and his pace quickened. When he knew he was in his eyeline, he nodded, and he tipped his hat, extending his hand as he approached. 

“Well good afternoon, Maestro Stravinsky. What a pleasure to see you again,” he said with a broad, charming smile.

“Mister Bartlett, hello,” Igor nodded, tipping his hat as well, a smile spreading on his own face. He took his hand, his gaze intense as he looked into Ellis’ eyes, holding the greeting perhaps a hair longer than was considered to be of a normal social standard. Were it any other time of the world, when certain things were more accepted, he might have brought a gift of some sort, perhaps flowers. But that was not the way of things. “Likewise and good afternoon. I hope your article is fairing well.”

Ellis let his fingers stroke all the way down Igor’s palm before he released his hand, licking his lips and holding eye contact as he did so. “I’m currently working as a….well, as a bit of a freelance writer, but yes, there’s quite a bit of interest in you right now. You’re quite the rebel. What I witnessed was not what audiences are used to, not exactly the proper Mozart or Handel or the Baroque masterworks. I’m eager to uncover the man beneath such a passionate piece of art,” the brunet remarked, gesturing for them to begin walking with a raised brow as he proceeded forward.

Igor felt a low heat once more in his groin at that caress of palm, and placed his hands into his trouser pockets as they began to walk. He focused on Ellis, thinking he was more beautiful a picture than any of the flowers in the room. Again, he didn’t say that. He did laugh quietly at the rebel comment. “Your words are very appreciated, Mr Bartlett. Passion and feeling are what is at the very heart of my work. It inspires my fingers into action in a number of ways.”

Ellis smirked and cast a sidelong glance at the older man. “Have you received many requests for interviews? Demand for performances? It sounds like, from what I’ve read, much of the public, even your peers, don’t quite know or appreciate the value of what they have on their hands yet. You need a champion, somehow who believes in you to be your voice, don’t you think?”

With a firm look, Igor contemplated. “I am my own champion. What can a journalist do?” he asked, ever the egotistical man, proud and not wanting to think he needed help. He rubbed his chin, his lips parting just slightly in further thought. “Years ago, I would have flat out refused your offer. How would you aid my voice? Does an article carry so much sway?”

Igor knew it did though, just as he knew the fact that he and his wife were stuck in their hotel room as he worked.

Ellis casually strolled on, pausing at some lilies and grazing long, slim fingertips over the petals. “An article carries sway, certainly. I have something else in mind though. Something to really get the name  _ Stravinsky _ worldwide attention. A book. Now, there’s no need to be coy with me, I know things are not so easy for you and...Catherine, is it, right? To get right straight to it, I want you to come stay with me, let me pay you and write and publish biography about you, all with your review and blessing, of course. I’ve got a villa just outside the city, it’s just me and my staff and assistant. Clean, fresh air. The best care for your wife. I’d pay you handsomely for your time,” Ellis said, fingering velvety leaves between thumb and forefinger delicately as large blue doe eyes drifted up to meet Igor’s.

Catherine was getting better already, but she did still need care, and Igor wanted to be able to provide for them. He was quiet again, thinking over the offer. He watched the path of Ellis’ fingers, his own moustache twitching. It was a good opportunity, in more ways than one, and he also liked the idea of getting to be closer to the handsome journalist. There was a fire there, something between them, even if he’d never before considered being with another man. “Your generosity is unmatched. Yes, I accept your offer and will let Catherine know on this day’s evening. When should you be expecting our arrival?”

The corners of Ellis’ eyes crinkled up as he grinned and drew closer to the composer, and he took both hands in his and shook them slowly. “I hope you smoke cigars. I’ll have some fine ones waiting for your arrival to welcome you. I can have everything ready for you in three days’ time,” he said, and reached for his breast pocket to pull out a card. Placing it the palm of his hand, he winked. “Dial me later, I will send a car to collect your luggage and assist moving. This will be a very good thing for your career Maestro...and for you,” Ellis added.

Igor swallowed thickly, nodding again. He placed the car into his vest pocket and squeezes Ellis’ hand. Just a small show of the fire that was burning inside, a simple demonstration. “I do enjoy them occasionally, of course, and once again thank you. We will be ready for you. I will be of assistance in our stay as well,” he offered, not one to not help out in any way he could. He hoped his wife would love the idea just as much as he did, but either way, it was his way or no way. “I will indeed.”

As Ellis walked away, he felt the heat creeping up his cheeks and his heart pounding. Oh, but he had it bad for this exotic man, and how he knew it. He’d be a perfect new pet project. He’d definitely enlist Lester’s help to keep the wife occupied while he entertained his Maestro Stravinsky.

***

Igor made it home that evening, the doctor there to check on his Katia - how he called her when they were home and alone - so he went inside to see what news there was to be had. She was still fairing better than she had been, but it would take many days and weeks before a full recovery could be deemed official. 

When the doctor left, Igor went to sit at her bedside, taking her hand in his own as he looked into her light eyes. Childhood sweethearts they were once called, but long since had marriage given over to familiarity and comfort. The fires that used to blaze bright, were nothing more than a cozy, smoldering flicker. Be that as it may, love was ever present.

“Katia, I have news that I hope will make you happy. We are moving in three days from now. Ellis Bartlett, an up and coming journalist has offered us a place to stay. I can work from there, and you will rest. It will be a profitable venture in a number of ways.”

She looked at him, her brow furrowing ever slightly but then smiled, submissive but strong. “If you think that is what must be done, then I stand by you.”

“I do. I will not be swayed. It’s for both of us, and the family I hope we will have one day.” Igor leaned forward and kissed her forehead, holding her face a moment before pulling back.

“Yes, of course, Igor. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

***

The day had come, and Ellis had made arrangements for Igor and his family to move into his sprawling villa just outside the city. It was far enough into the beautiful French countryside where the air was indeed warm and clean, the land green and lush, gardens and trees covering the well-manicured, colorful landscape.

He greeted the car as it pulled up, his employees scurrying out to help carry in their luggage. He wore a smart looking brown checked suit, hair smoothed down and hands in his pockets casually. “Dobro požalovat'!” Ellis attempted to greet Igor and Catherine in Russian. With a large, friendly grin, he laughed at himself. “But I’m terribly afraid I may have outright slaughtered that. Perhaps just  _ welcome _ then!”

Igor was impressed, and Catherine seemed to be as well. The place and the land it sat upon was spectacularly beautiful. After he got out, he helped his wife, and then smiled at Ellis. Smoothing down the dark blue sweater vest over his white collared shirt and grey slacks, hair slicked back, he placed his hands in his pockets as Katia stood beside him. He said a thank you in his native tongue. “Thank you. Ellis Bartlett, this is Catherine, my wife.”

Catherine offered a weak, unsure smile, assessing Ellis. “Hello. Your generosity is very surprising. We thank you.”

Ellis took Catherine’s small, pale hand and kissed it lightly as was the custom, smiling gentlemanly. “How wonderful to meet you, Madame Stravinsky. I hope you’ll enjoy my home, but please make yourself as comfortable as you like. We can make every accommodation I’m sure. Please, let’s show you around, shall we?” he said, congenitally offering her his other arm, and trying to catch Igor’s eye with a smile.  

Igor smiled back, giving a cant of his head in approval. He began walking with them as Catherine did so between them. She found Ellis to be handsome, if not beautiful. More so than most women of their time in fact, though he was still clearly manly. It surprised her a little that her husband didn’t seem to find the bold gesture from their host as off putting. Either way the fresh air would do her good.

“It’s a lovely home, and again, we are very grateful. It seems to be a large place for only one man. Have you no interest in finding a wife?”

“Katia,” Igor said, giving his wife a bit of a look.

Ellis blushed almost demurely and chuckled a dry, horse sort of laugh. “No, no, it’s quite alright. We’re in modern times, in Paris, after all. Well, near enough anyway. I know it’s sounds rather bohemian, but you’re an artist. I guess you’d say I’m rather open-minded. In proper circles they say  _ confirmed bachelor _ . I haven’t found the lady...or gentleman...just yet,” he quipped, turning to wink at Katia slyly. He smoothed down his tie and led them up a set of stairs to the second floor as they talked.

Catherine wasn’t aware, and wouldn’t have been, had he not have said so, and Igor didn’t know either. At least not by word of mouth. He knew...through his interactions with Ellis, through the heat they seemed to share. She handled it well enough though, and nodded politely. “I have no doubts you’ll find someone eventually,” she offered, walking up stairs with both men.

Igor let them go ahead, his gaze falling on the flexing shift of Ellis’ posterior.

Ellis turned up a landing and a second shorter set of stairs and the first set of doors in the right, which he opened to a large master bedroom. It was decorated in black and white, quite stark and modern even for the French, but the room was spacious and luxurious for two people, with a queen bed, chaise lounge and chairs, and master bathroom as well as a patio leading to the garden. “I hope this will accommodate you? You’ll have full access to the downstairs of course, but this will be your private suite. Meals are fully prepared three times daily. And Maestro, I will show you your private office when you’re ready?” Ellis said, one hand in his coat pocket, leaning against a tall white armoire casually with a smile and an arched, expectant brow.

“Not one for much color?” Catherine asked, looking around. She’d have to spruce it a bit. “It’s lovely, yes, thank you.” Not her choice of decor but she wouldn’t be ungrateful even if she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Igor touched his wife’s arm, signalling she stay put and rest, then turned to Ellis. “Yes, I’m ready.” It was a simple reply, but he was anticipating seeing where he would be able to compose.

Sensing the wife wasn’t thrilled, Ellis bristled a bit, but decided as usual he’d get more bees with honey. Besides the woman was already rather frail. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and unpack? I can send someone to change the bedding and curtains if they’re not to your taste of course.” He took Igor’s arm boldly then and tugged him towards the door persuasively. “Come now,” he said, leading him out into the hall.

Catherine watched as Igor and Ellis left, sighing to herself quietly as she began to unpack. She wouldn’t speak more to the decor or bedding.


	2. Chapter 2

Down the stairs at the end of the long hall, was a set of tall double doors that opened to a grand room, at the center of which sat a baby grand piano. Floor to ceiling windows allowed light from the private lane to stream in when the curtains were opened, and a desk sat on one side of the room, a large sofa on another, as well as a bar. The room was designed with acoustics in mind, and as Ellis strode proudly to the piano, he lifted the lid and waved Igor over with a flourish, inviting him to play. “Your exclusive, personally designed domain, M’lord,” he said with a small bow.

Igor chuckled at that, but then his face was serious again as he took in everything. It was perfect, quite grand, and more than he’s ever gotten to indulge in. He walked over next to Ellis, close but not touching, and met his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, voice deep and smokey, then leaned over to test the keys. It was in tune and his fingers moved, playing the first few notes of his controversial piece. With a smile, he sat down on the bench, leaving room should Ellis decide to join him there.

Ellis paused only a beat before sitting beside Igor, hands resting on his thighs as he looked over at the man, arrested by the stark beauty in the sharpness of his defined cheekbones sloping so elegantly over bronze skin. The well-kept mustache perched above that proud, stubborn mouth twitched into something that could perhaps be perceived as a slight smile, and it was enough for the Brit. As the notes burst out, loud and crashing, a thrusting beat of primal fury that spoke of something utterly raw and passionate, Ellis closed his eyes and let it pulse through him. His hands gripped the edge of the piano bench, the left one brushing Igor’s thigh as he did, and his blue eyes opened, looking over at him. The man was utterly gorgeous like this, breathtakingly handsome, in his element, his hair shaken out of place and cheeks ruddy with effort. It was the most animated he’d seen him thus far, and Ellis loved it.

Igor drew in a deep breath, his heart picking up. He continued to play, the notes becoming even more emotional, all the passion he felt in side coming through them. The touch on his thigh ignited a fire in his loins, and he looked over at Ellis, his eyes narrowed, blow, and tongue sweeping subtly over his lips. He stopped after a moment, then took the other's hand, setting it on the keys. "I can show you how," was all he said, placing his own atop and pressing Mr Bartlett's fingers in the right position with a smile.

It was the first moment the flirtatious brunet was caught off guard, and he returned the smile, his cheeks warming. “Y-yes, alright,” he exhaled, his fingers relaxing under Igor’s touch, even as his heart quickened in his chest. He was able to pay close attention though, and picked up the man’s rhythm almost instinctively, following well after only a few small, clumsy mistakes. They fell into a pattern and Ellis felt real joy at the music and a connection.

Neither one of them were aware that Katia was watching them play. She only stood there a moment before walking off, back to her room. She had a very bad feeling.

Igor grinned over at Ellis’, impressed to say the least. How badly he longed for more, but he did in fact feel a bit of remorse since he was married. Either way, he was a man, and men had needs. What was he to do but to follow his instincts? “That is good. You learn quickly, Mr Bartlett.”

Ellis’ eyes drifted to Igor’s plush lips, and without thinking he licked his own, sapphire eyes flickering back up. “I apparently have quite a good teacher. I…” he was about to say more, but Igor’s eyes on him caught him in a very rare moment of self consciousness, and his cheek’s burned in a deep blush, lending a boyishness to his appearance. “Well, perhaps you might teach me more sometime.”

"Alright," Igor agreed, his skin ruddy from following the sweep of Ellis' tongue over his ripe, rosy lips. He wanted very much to taste them, to know the feel of satin against his own. A new sensation, he imagined, feeling the slide of moustache and moustache instead of the his wife's smooth skin. "Then I will continue to teach you."

Ellis’ hands tentatively moved past the piano keys, drifting over ivory to Igor’s olive fingers. “Will you? That’s...that’s good, then. Rather...fortunate,” Ellis said, his breath hitching in his throat at the burning touch of skin.

It was at that moment the voice of one of the servants could be heard downstairs calling for Ellis. He broke from his reverie and shook his head with a slight gasp. “I-I-I should go see what that is and leave you to...get settled in. We’ll call you for dinner...Excuse me,” he said as Igor nodded, less suave than he normally was, a rare moment for the dapper young man, and he stood, straightening his suit and smoothing it before smiling and nodding, and walking out.

Igor played a few minutes longer than went upstairs. When they were called to dinner, both Katia and Igor sat at the table, waiting for Ellis and Lester to arrive. Katia gave Igor an curious look, so he smiled to reassure her, even if it was only halfway.

Lester came down first, having introduced himself earlier to the couple, and made small talk with them until finally Ellis sauntered in, clad in a fitted dark blue suit.

“Good evening, welcome to your first dinner in your new home. I wanted to make sure you felt as welcome as possible, so I had my chef prepare borshch and a fresh baked rye bread. Tomorrow we will have beef stroganoff. You’ll have to give me a list of your favorite meals, will you, Madame Stravinsky?” Ellis offered, taking a seat at the head of the table as the servants placed the steaming dishes on the table an began serving each of them.

“Thank you, Mr Bartlett, you’re too kind, and yes I will,” Catherine said, looking at Igor who was looking at Ellis. He noticed his wife looking at him, and he turned to her and just stared a moment.

“Yes. Thank you.” Igor added, arranging the napkin. It felt a bit off putting, the tension there, and it was only the first night.

“Very good. Well, bon appetit!” Ellis said, and nodded as they began to eat.

As dinner wore on, he couldn’t help but steal glances at the handsome composer at every chance he had, admiring how strikingly good looking he was, and when he caught his eye, he smiled warmly. Igor was just as taken with Ellis, and he found himself looking back to each glance and even quirked and occasional smile. Even as they did, Lester was all too aware of his friend Ellis’ obviousness to the watchful eyes of Catherine, Igor’s delicate wife, but he did his best to keep her in conversation.

“Catherine...May I call you Catherine? What do you think of the grounds here? Paris? Is it quite different from Saint Petersburg? I’ve never been, but I’m curious,” Lester babbled, taking a bite of rye bread and peering at her over his wire rimmed glasses.

“You may,” Catherine answered, giving Lester a polite smile as she finished her food. It was delicious but it also wasn’t as enjoyable as it should have been due to the looks and smiles being cast. She’d never thought of her husband as one who would turn his eye to a member of the same sex, but he was very open minded and progressive. “It’s beautiful here. A world away from where we’ve come. It’s a though we’ve been thrown into a dream or a picture from a story book.

Or was the dream a  _ nightmare _ ?

Ellis laughed loudly, his hand brushing against Igor’s and reaching out to touch his fingers as the wine flowed towards the end of their meal, his cheeks bright pink from the alcohol. “Let’s go to the piano, Igor,” he said, referring to the man by his Christian name as he’d relaxed under the influence of libations. “Perhaps you might play piano for us just a bit before we all retire for the night? Please don’t be modest...”

“Yes, just one song, perhaps something Bartlett might dance with Catherine to, yes?” Lester suggested jovially.

Igor cut his eyes to Lester at that, but nodded, smiling at both men, and then looked at his wife, who was doing her best to friendly and polite.

“Very well,” Igor said, always one for a bit of an ego massage. He rose to his feet after finishing his wine, also inebriated, though not full on without his senses. He offered his hand to his wife, who took it, and they all went over to the piano as the servants began cleaning up the table.

Sitting down, Igor opened the piano cover and began to play, slow at first, but building. It wasn’t from his controversial piece, but something that his wife could dance to with Ellis, should they both chose to.

Ellis bowed in a gentlemanly fashion to Catherine and offered his hand as the notes began, a charming smile and while he was indeed relaxed he was not by any means drunk. He moved with a grace and elegance, though each time he turned her with her back to her husband, his gaze strayed to the pianist, and the muscles visible through his dress shirt, back straight as he played so perfectly, effortlessly.

Catherine noticed Ellis’ gaze straying once or twice, but she mostly kept her eyes on his shoulder. It was so she didn’t have to see the looks, and also so she didn’t have to look into his eyes. She was a good sport about it, and smiled. “You are a most wonderous dancer, Mr Bartlett, did you study the arts?”

It was a bit of a backhanded compliment as well, or could be taken either way, implying that Ellis’ hobbies were not spent on the things of a typical man and more so in other dandy endeavors.

“You might say I’m a bit of a Renaissance man. It’s part of being so well-rounded. As a journalist, one must be adept at fitting into a variety of situations and getting along with many different personalities,” he answered, and she nodded, staying quiet after that. It was nearly impossible to focus on anything but the man at the piano, his eyes drifting over with every twirl and dip.

Igor likewise found his eyes shifting to Ellis, his tongue sweeping over his lips, lips that longed to seek and discover. He wasn’t jealous in the least about his wife being danced with, which made him feel even more a peculiar, yet confirmational way.

Ellis non-too-accidentally bumped into Igor as he swung Catherine around, chuckling at himself and apologizing as he let go of her and turning towards him, stumbling ever so slightly. “Pardon, so terribly sorry…”

“Bartlett, perhaps you should call it a night,” Lester admonished, clapping him on the shoulder and tutting.

Catherine went to sit down at that, a bit tired from the dancing. Igor enjoyed the ‘accidental’ touch though, and chuckled lightly.

“Yes, you’re right. Best not to spoil your first night here. Mr and Mrs Stravinsky, sleep well in your new home, I shall retire and bid good night,” Ellis said with a boyish grin and a bow, and took his leave with Lester.

“Goodnight Mr Bartlett, Lester,” Igor said, feeling a loss when Ellis had gone. Catherine came over to sit next to Igor then, and he closed the lid on the piano, much to her dismay.

“I’ll see you to bed. I have more work that is needed to be done,” Igor said, kissing her temple. She nodded, though clearly not pleased, even if she was still too ill to suggest her take her to bed.

After he got her tucked in, Igor went back downstairs, and began working. He wrote several changes on his piece, a brandy in hand by the low light of the oil lamps, smoking a cigarette. It was hard to concentrate though, when he kept seeing blue eyes and perfect lips. Those of Mr Bartlett, that is; he was consumed with thoughts of their host.

***

Upstairs, Ellis bathed languidly, rubbing musky oils into his skin and toweling his hair dry before brushing it smooth. He donned a blue silk robe, thinner than his brocade one; this one seemed to cling to each curve of muscle, broad shoulders and down his trim waist. He looked at himself in the mirror, his thoughts lingering on those tempting, talented fingers dancing over the piano keys, and he felt compelled to revisit his space, even if he wasn’t still there, just perhaps feel that magic again. Somehow he hoped there’d be a chance the man was still awake.

By the time he reached the door, it was hardly even a surprise to see the low golden glow of candle light from beneath the door, and his heart pounded inside his chest as he knew what might transpire even as his hand twisted the door knob.

Ellis pressed forward, eyes as blue as the sky focused on the man in the chair as he walked in and closed it quietly behind him, the thin material of his robe fluttering about his bare calves as he approached him silently, lips parted in a silent plea. He strode across the room until he stood perilously near the Russian, and his breath hitched in his throat.

Igor stopped writing and looked up at Ellis. Amber eyes met sea blue as he stood, speaking nothing, merely raising his hand to trace the curve of the other's jaw, to his lips. His cock throbbed needily in his trousers, pressing and drawing the fabric tight as his own lips parted in sheer unbridled desire. The heat and tension increased one hundred fold with every second that passed and at this point, no words needed to be spoken. Igor was aware, just as he suspected Ellis was, of what they both wanted. What they had been craving since they'd meet just a few days prior.

Ellis’ pupils dilated, and he dipped his chin, exhaling heavily and darting his tongue out to taste the very tip of Igor’s thumb with a light caress. The fabric of his robe afforded little protection, and the outline of his cock bobbing to life beneath, visibly rippling, and he made no effort to conceal himself. In fact, quite the opposite. As his cock hardened and rose, he hastily tugged at the belt, loosening it and shrugging his shoulders until it pooled to the ground around his ankles, rendering him completely nude, his thick, long, curved, uncut cock jutting proudly from a thick nest of flaxen pubic hair.

Igor was used to the soft curves of a woman, the breast hanging from his wife's chest - even if it had been at least a year since they'd had relations. He hadn't been sure how he'd feel about seeing Ellis - a man - in such a state of undress. The revelation was both surprising and pleasurable. The composer quickly took off his vest, then his tie, letting them drop as before he unbuttoned his shirt, took off his suspenders, and his pants, glasses last. A moment later, everything had been removed and his own olive tinged uncut cock stood out proudly bumping into Ellis'.

Veiny hands gripped Ellis' face, and he crashed their lips together, still nothing said, only the sound of lips colliding, moustache’s scraping, and ragged huffs of breath resounding. He slipped his tongue heatedly into his mouth, fingers trailing down his side, to his waist, then the man's posterior, guiding him down onto the carpeted floor.

Ellis arched against Igor, everything ablaze at once, dragging his fingers through the thick carpet of hair covering his chest. He met Igor’s tongue with his own, sucking eagerly and scraping teeth with rough pants. Long fingers wrapped around a thick, veiny cock and tugged, his mouth dropping open further as he felt he impressive size with a low, deep moan.

Igor groaned, swallowing, and pushed open Ellis’ thighs with his knees. He bit at his lips, the reached down to grasp his cock too, feeling the weight of it in his broad palm. It was more natural an act that he’d imagined, but he didn’t do it long, instead he spit on his fingers, and placed them between two warm cheeks. His eyes stayed locked on lust blown hues, gaze intensely burning.

The younger man guessed he hadn’t had experience with men before, that this was all instinct, but it didn’t matter. This was so raw and carnal, and the beastly look burning on the gorgeous man’s face drove Ellis wild with need. He raised his legs, spreading them wide to allow him room to do as he pleased, and nodded, guiding his fingers between the curves of his ass. “Have you ever...you can...I can show you…” he whispered roughly, biting his reddened bottom lip even as he threw his head back a bit, looking at Igor from beneath long dark lashes.

Igor shook his head, removing his hand then, applying more spit, which he rubbed on his cock head, then even more for Ellis’ heated opening. He inserted one, stubborn that he could do it himself, and pressed his body down atop the other’s crashing their lips together once more. He grunted at the feel of the tightness, it was profound and something he’d not ever experienced before. “Ah..” he groaned, one hand snaking roughly under the other man’s head as they made out hotly and his finger worked in and out. 

Ellis fed from the older man’s mouth, his demanding dominance striking a chord within, and he writhed beneath, unable to do more than grip Igor’s flexing biceps and groan into his mouth and struggle to relax as his finger pressed inside. He was grateful at least the man was trying to ready him, knew as much as to do that, but the pace was rough and he knew this would be painful. Somehow though, it made him more wanton, and he felt himself relax into the invasion.

“Yes, like that…”

Igor added a second spit lubed finger, not at all aware of the prostate, so he just kept thrusting until it felt a little more relaxed and then he withdrew them. More saliva on his cock, he was almost shaking with need, dark eyes hooded as he lined up and pushed in rather hard. .He grunted louder, the room well insulated, and braced his hand near Ellis’ head, sucking his tongue back inside his mouth hungrily. “Ellis-” he finally huffed out, his free hand trailing down the side of his body, hitching up his thigh as he started to pump slowly.

“Ahhhh, bloody fuck…!” Ellis cursed louder than he meant, hot breath and sharp teeth biting against his lips, but the sudden stretch burned, pain bursting bright behind his eyes. The spit helped a little of course, but it wasn’t enough, and Igor was huge. His hips shook, but the bigger man was strong, rough and demanding, and Ellis had to admit the dominance was making him weak with need in a way he’d never felt before. He was proud and while he usually bottomed, he was usually the bossy type, but Igor was so powerful and pinned him down, a fire in his eyes and kiss that stoked a fire of molten lava deep in his belly.

It wasn’t Igor’s desire to hurt Ellis of course, he was just untrained in the ways of relations between man and man. He slowed down then, and stroked his face. “Are you alright?” he asked, a show of compassion and care, both of which indicated that this wasn’t just lust. He truly felt a deep resonance with the other in ways he’d never known before. Before Ellis could answer, he kissed him again, down to his neck so that he could finally speak. He was still as he waited, cock seated deep inside the other man, chest heaving, and hearts beating as one by the glow of the low lighting.

The kiss was welcome, and still catching his breath he could yet speak, instead answering him by licking back into his mouth with a hungry moan, lifting both legs and wrapping them around his waist. As Igor pressed in, he felt the head brush his prostate and a shudder of pleasure rippled through him, his cock throbbing between their bellies and a pearly drop of pre come dripping from the head. “Oh yes, yes, better than bloody alright,” he finally huffed out. “You can...you can move…take me, Igor…”

That was all he needed. Igor grunted his reply, ragged breath coming out hot as he started to thrust in earnest. His muscles rippled, ass flexing as he took Ellis’ on the carpeted floor. His balls were slapping, skin forming a fine sheen of sweat, and he plundered his mouth, sucking his tongue, scraping the slick flesh with his teeth. Ellis felt better than anyone, so tight, so hot; the constriction on his turgid flesh was nearly enough to undone him in a quick manner, but he held his control, not wanting it to be over too soon. “Ah...Mm…”

“Fuck,” Ellis cursed, arching his back off the floor, both hands moving up to grip either side of Igor’s head as he kissed him like his very life depended on it. They fucked hard, raw, deep, like animals, a rough rhythm that may have looked like they were wrestling, grappling for dominance, but Ellis was all for allowing Igor the upper hand, simply wanting more and more of his thick cock deep inside.

After a few minutes of this, Igor pulled out and flipped Ellis over onto his belly, applying more saliva onto his shaft before he drove back in. He pressed his whole body atop his, strong thighs aiding him in each long, deep thrust. “Ellis, Oh-” he groaned, licking and kissing the side of his neck, his moustache pricking his skin. It felt impossibly good, and he knew that nothing else would compare to this, or to him.

Ellis had certainly had his share of lovers, yet no one had taken him like this. Igor was wild and primal and there was more there, something inside him that had possessed him. The way he manhandled him felt so good, he felt his muscles strain, looking behind him briefly as the man’s hair hung in his blood red eyes, and his head lolled to the side in a breathless keen when he felt those sharp teeth on his neck, giving him space to bite and suck as he wanted. “Yes, gods, please, yes, Igor, Igor, oh Igor, ahh…” he begged, his voice growing ragged, pressing his ass up to meet the man’s thrusts as best he could.

Igor bit down then, marking him as if to claim him for his own. It was feral and lust filled, passionate, just like his music. When he heard his name being called out like that, he moved his hand over Ellis’ mouth, fucking him harder, all but slamming against the soft swell of his ass as his hair hung into his lust blown eyes. “Yes,” was all he could say, his body shaking and tensing up. Igor pulled out again after another few more minutes, and rolled off to lay on his back so Ellis could ride him. “Ellis-”

Long strands of dark hair clung to his sweaty forehead and flushed cheeks as Ellis was lifted to straddle the Russian. Never before had he experienced such physical, strenuous love making before. This was beyond even his wildest fantasies. He spit into his palm and reached behind his back to stroke Igor’s cock once more, guiding him back inside. Biting his bottom lip, he sank back down, swallowing every inch inside, and began to roll his hips, up and down, back and forth, undulating over him. Securing his palms on either side of his body, he lowered himself and kissed his mouth eagerly once more, his cock rubbing between their bodies. “Gods, Igor...I’m so close now…”

Both arms wrapped around Ellis, gliding down to bottom, where Igor gripped and thrusted up to meet each downward movement. “As am I,” he said, husky and deep, moving harder and faster. Heat built in his loins, to his balls, the promise of his release churning in his core as their bodies slapped together lewdly. There was no going back now, the dam had been busted open and the waters of their desire were drowning them both. “Ah, Ellis-”

The lustful brunet’s moustache scratched against Igor’s as he moaned, sharp teeth biting as he licked into his mouth, ass bobbing up and down his shaft faster and faster. Their sweat mingled, and with a sharp cry, the Englishman came suddenly, hot sticky ejaculate shooting between them up Igor’s chest. “Fuck...oh bloody fuck, Igor…!”

That was all it took for the composer. He quickened his pace, driving into Ellis impossibly fast and hard, balls smacking as he huffed and panted. He gripped the nape of the man’s neck, plundering his mouth when he felt the constriction and throb around his cock. He spilled then, hot and thick, moaning roughly into his mouth as his body tensed, then finally relaxed. “Ah, fuck, Ellis-”

Blunt fingernails scratched down Igor’s chest as he lifted himself up, blue eyes taking in the majesty of the man beneath him. There he lay, sweaty, wild-eyed, feral, beastly, lustful, the sated hunger all for him and him alone, and Ellis was drunk for him. “That was amazing, gods,” he panted, bringing long fingers up to his sharp cheekbones and tracing the outline of his lips.

Igor smiled, and suckled the tip of Ellis’ finger, capturing it between his teeth. He let go and pulled him down again for a slow, passionate kiss. He was hooked now, his heart tethering to the other man’s, and it showed in the way their lips locked, the way the hair of their moustaches brushed together effortlessly. When he let go long enough to breathe, he stroked his face. “A first time for me, but I hope it’s not the last.”

Ellis kissed him back deeply, and when he pulled back for air the same time Igor did, he looked in his eyes and felt the pull in his chest; a burning, full ache of joy. “It can’t be the last. My god. That was an utter revelation, Igor. You’re magnificent...yes…” he paused to kiss him again, tongue exploring as though he wanted to memorize every bit of his mouth, each curve and the very taste of him.

“You are as well,” Igor whispered, his tone deep and rough. They were quickly addicted, a newfound drug for one another, and he knew he couldn’t go back now. He didn’t want to. His fingers slipped into soft strands, moving to palm the back of his head as they made out on the floor. He wanted to sleep with him in his bed, hold him all night, but he knew he couldn’t.

Ellis too desired nothing more than to sleep with Igor, but it was not possible. He slipped to his bed chambers and didn’t wash himself dreaming of their torrid forbidden encounter all night.

 


	3. Chapter 3

In the days that followed, the writer was completely, devastatingly in love, besotted with Igor Stravinsky, but tried he best he could to be discreet about it. Still it was hard not to have a bounce in his step and a blush in his cheek, and more than once Lester admonished him to mind himself, particularly around Catherine. 

Igor spent all the time with Ellis that he could, and Catherine watched it happen. Not directly, but she could tell. She knew her husband, and the little gifts or treats that Ellis provided her, as well as him, didn’t do anything to quell the burgeoning nausea in her stomach that she felt every single time she saw his annoyingly handsome face. The face that undoubtedly was winning over her spouse. If only they had children, perhaps that would have made things different, some sort of tether to Igor, but they had none. Beyond that, how could she hope to compete with a man who had the same parts as he did? She couldn’t. She knew that. Still she would do her best. She was recovering, after all.

Today, Igor caught sight of Ellis heading into the woods and so he followed, catching up to him quickly. “Where are you going?”

Ellis paused and smiled brightly when he caught sight of Igor; in truth he’d been hoping he’d come after him. “Oh, a little place I have for thinking. Clear my mind sometimes. Want to have a look?” he asked, cocking his head to one side, both hands in his pockets.

Igor smiled, less stoic with Ellis now that they’d taken things to a whole new level. He was thankful that the man seemed pleased at his appearance. “I would enjoy that quite a lot, yes, he answered, walking by his side, head tilted towards him. “I could rather use a bit of thinking.”

Ellis watched as Igor walked right up to him, his eyes roaming over his features lustfully, and he inhaled deeply to allow himself that luxury, licking his lips slowly. “Well, I rather think you’ll really like this little hideaway then,” he remarked in a husky voice, and continued walking.

Soon they reached a tiny cabin, really just a shack set deep in the woods where the landscapers kept the gardening tools. Ellis used a small key to unlock the door and nodded to a bench along one corner, beneath a window, closing and locking the door behind them and immediately beginning to unbutton his billowy shirt, a heated look on his face.

Igor did the same, taking off his glasses first, his shoes next, leaving his socks and sock garters on, once the pants and shirt were off. He laid it all down then moved to undo Ellis’ pants, pulling them off. He kissed him hotly, palming the back of his head as he walked back towards the bench and toppled onto it, taking the other man with him, seating him between furry thighs. “Mm, Ellis… I’ve thought you for the greater part of the day.”

Ellis climbed into Igor’s lap, needy, whining, desperate kisses, like he required breathing from his very lungs for air. Stripped down to black dress sock, garters, the white shirt unbuttoned all the way down his chest the only other thing he wore. “Thought of you too...how bloody fucking good it feels to have you inside, how full you make me...how it feels to come with you inside,” he panted, long fingers running through his chest hair, that thicket of fur he had grown to love so much. Of course he had a smattering of hair himself, but nothing like Igor’s.

Igor ran his hands up and down Ellis’ chest, then around to his back, under the opened shirt, feeling out his skin as he kissed him back with equal fervor. “You have a wicked mouth,” he growled, flicking his tongue up over both lips, then horizontally between them before he plunged back inside. Oh but he loved that mouth, and the words that came out of them. He wanted them just for him, even if deep down he knew that wasn’t rightly fair. Something to think on later, for now, all he could focus on was the soft glide of muscle and rolling up eager hips.

“This wicked mouth loves to taste you,  _ Maestro Stravinsky _ ,” Ellis purred, tugging at Igor’s hair and slipping off his lap to his knees on the floor. “I’ve been longing to taste you this way, especially,” he said, blue eyes dark with lust widened as he looked up at him and licked a wide stripe from his balls all the way up to the tip, where a fat bead of pre come sat tantalizingly at the tip. “Mmmmm….” he hummed before swallowing the tip and suckling.

Igor's hand flew to Ellis' head, his back arching, which pressed his furry chest out. He soon looked down, not wanting to miss this for anything, and watched the utterly debauched sight there. "Oh... Ellis," he groaned, not having had this sort of attention in a very,  _ very _ long time. He wanted everything all at once, all from Mr Bartlett. "You are very skilled. Mm..."

Ellis darted his tongue over the slit, collecting the pearly drop and savoring it before sliding his lips slowly down the length of Igor’s cock. He fixed his eyes on his face, watching until his moustache tickled the base and he had him to the root, and he choked just a bit, the fat uncut head constricting the back of his throat completely. Pulling up briefly, he gripped him beneath his balls confidently and sucked him back down, relaxing his throat and taking him down again, bobbing up and down more as spittle dripped down his chin.

Igor began cursing in Russian at that, reaching down to collect the saliva from Ellis’ chin, just to feel the utter obscenity of the act they were committing. He’d expected to feel some sort of way for these acts with someone of the same sex, but he didn’t. It wasn’t a thought. All he could do was feel, and feel he was right now. Gods, the man was good at his work. Deft with his tongue the way that he was good at composing, a true phallic master. Toes curling, he jerked his hips slowly, fucking into his mouth, but not with intentions of choking. With a groan, he flicked his gaze back to those eyes. “Yes, oh, Ellis…”

It was heady, the feeling of power the brunet had, wielding the ability to elicit these moans of passion from this typically stoic, reserved man. Ellis wanted to drive him to the brink, and he did, over and over again, teasing him right to the edge and pulling away, prolonging his pleasure, drawing it out until he too was leaking against the floor of the small shed. When he knew he could take no more, he pulled off and reached for a tin of oil he’d left there the previous afternoon for just this purpose.

“I already prepared myself for you, Igor, before we left. I cleaned myself in the tub and opened myself up for you,” he whispered, standing and straddling Igor again as he lowered himself onto his cock. Despite the advance work and oil, which he slicked and stroked over his hot flesh, it was still an incredibly tight fit.

Igor grunted a snarl, and one hand went to his hips, gripping there to hold him fast on his cock. The other wrapped around the nape of his neck and pulled him down for a hot, rough kiss. “Impressive,” he groaned, pleased with the preparation that he’d done and just for him. It was entirely salacious, and he nearly came from the first deep drive, but he held back. He wanted this to last. “You undo me, Ellis.”

Ellis’ jaw dropped open as he rode Igor’s thick, olive cock slowly, taut abdomen rolling as he braced himself on broad shoulders and explored his mouth with a feral hunger. Hazy sunshine peeked through the curtains on the window into the dusty shack, glistening off the sparkles of gold in the composer’s otherwise dark chest hair, and when Ellis pulled back to lean his forehead against Igor’s, he marvelled at similar flecks of gold in his eyes. He was falling in love - Ellis - a flirt that could never be tamed, but damn him, this man was reeling him in completely. “As you do me, Igor,” he panted.

Igor was too, his heart beating to a rhythm that resounded to the passion of their coupling, of their burgeoning love. Hands moved up and down Ellis’ back, gripping his ass, fingertips pressing into the plush muscle of his cheeks. He let out a growl, and flicked his tongue slowly over his lips, then captured one between sharp teeth. The way the light illuminated Ellis was obscene, the shadows cast in just the right areas to really show him off. “Mm… yes, yes-”

His dark hair falling disheveled in his face, Ellis moaned without holding back, feeling more free since they were all the way out here where no one would happen on them, no one could hear. Bouncing up and down Igor’s cock, his soft, plush ass slapping on muscular thighs with each movement, he sped up the pace, riding him harder, and leaned down to lick at his nipple, pinching the other one between thumb and forefinger. “Gods you’re so bloody big, ahh, ahh…”

Gods, but Ellis was a vision. Igor knew he'd have no problems with inspiration. He could almost hear the notes being played out as they joined, wet squelching noises filling the little cabin, combined with kisses and licks. Canting his hips up, he grasped the other's face, licking hotly into his mouth with renewed passion, driving up into him to match every downward thrust. "And you are so tight...ah, yes..."

Ellis kissed him back hard, biting his lips and curling his fingertips around his neck. He knew this raw, nearly violent passion was exactly what was behind the cacophony of sound that often filled his works, a tremendous thrum of power that the brunet could feel coursing through his body with every thrust. He slid his hands up to weave them in his dark hair and could feel his pleasure building low in his belly. “Oh Igor, oh Igor, what you do to me...the way this feels...like nothing before…” he panted, voice rough and lips reddened.

With a swallow and click of throat, Igor nodded, biting at those lips, his hand slipping between their bodies to take Ellis’ cock in his fist and stroke him. He felt his heart race, his skin buzzing, and he knew that he felt the same way as the man riding him. It undiluted passion, nothing farce, only pure carnal lust, and burgeoning feelings within them. A love symphony they could share. “Give in to me, I want to feel you find your release. I… oh Ellis-”

“Igor...Igor…” Ellis chanted his name, riding him with abandon, harder and faster than before, back arched. He reached down and looked through long lashes at the man. “I come only for you...Igor…” he gasped, feeling the hand on his cock, and as he did so, streams of come burst forth all over the older man’s chest, over Igor’s fist, and back down Ellis’ belly. His body trembled, powerful thighs shaking as his body rode out of waves of his orgasm, and he fell forward atop Igor, kissing him passionately and continuing to ride him hard.

That was all it took and Igor felt he could hold on no longer. With a rough groan into Ellis’ mouth, he erupted. Come shot out, painting the inside of his lover’s walls with his hot seed as their bodies moved and remained tethered. It was an indescribable feeling, his turgid flesh pulsing as it started to soften, his hands running up and down, all over the other’s body. “Ellis, you are… perfect,” he finally managed to say through heated breath, his chest rising and falling, slowing only slightly.  _ I’m falling in love _ , he thought to himself, his eyes saying what his mouth did not.

Ellis thought he’d drown in the older man’s beautiful brown eyes, a golden amber in the sunlight, and he anchored himself to his chest, the feeling coursing through him as well. He panted against him, their sweat mingling as he slowed his body and kissed the breath from Igor’s lips. “You are...you are a temptation, a sin, and addiction, and I think...I think…” he paused.  _ I’m falling for you  _ sat perched on the tip of his tongue, yet he couldn’t bring himself to say the words yet. “I’ll never get enough,” he finally finished, smiling as his blue eyes flickered up and down his face, brow furrowed before his lips twitched into a small smile. He knew better. This was a married man. He’d been with married women.  _ Can’t fall in love, Bartlett. _

Igor wondered what Ellis had been preparing to say. Was it merely that he’d never get enough? Or was it something more? The twitch and smile spoke volumes and he could only hope that they were on the same page. The composer felt that they were. It was in their kiss, in the way they made love. Everything that needed to be said, and wasn’t, was experienced, which is precisely his language. His music was the same. Their love one sweet symphony. “I want to spend the night with you, eventually, even if it is not at this time a possibility,” he confessed, at least letting that much out. He knew he shouldn’t be falling in love either. He was a married man, and he did also love Katia, but in an entirely different manner. “But I...I feel the same, Ellis.”

The confession and look in Igor’s eyes pulled at Ellis’ heart. His blue eyes softened then. “You know I want it as well. You might get called into London, you know. I have a flat there. We might need to meet with publishers...for the book...I can arrange it, Igor,” Ellis said, his heart pounding with excitement at the thought. His mind spun with ideas. Of course, the book was a done deal, but he would love to show Igor off to the people in his social circles in London, and it would only benefit them both. He ran his fingertips down the man’s sharp features and over plush lips adoringly, a besotted look on his face.  

“That sounds entirely possible. London, yes.” Igor smiled at Ellis, doing that more now than he had in years. On his face was also a reverent, enamored expression. His heart fluttering like a school boy might. With a kiss, he embraced his lover, leaning close to his ear, whispering. “Then arrange it.” The trip together would be monumental. If it worked out properly. Katia would not be pleased.

***

Ellis had contacted his friends in London, making arrangements to meet with the publishers, but of course it was a rouse largely concocted to get time alone away with Igor all to himself. Lester joined them but parted ways soon after they arrived to go visit and stay with his mother, and Ellis brought Igor straight to his home in St Johnswood. It was a modern city apartment, and just like the villa in France, appointed with every luxury one could want or need. As he led him inside, the driver brought their luggage in and Ellis thanked him, and finally alone again, he closed the door and looked at Igor with an arched brow and coy smile.

“At last, I have you to myself,” he smiled, taking off his hat and setting it on a rack beside the door before pressing in to kiss him.

“Mm, yes,”  Igor smiled in turn, removing his hat as well, then his coat before he pulled Ellis to him and then did so again, this time slipping just a little bit of tongue into his mouth. “Ah, this is very nice,” he said, letting go, his face serious as he examined the room they were in, or the apartment. It was very lavish, and entirely fitting the man that the composer had fallen in love with. “It is nice knowing that we have no one to interrupt us.”

Ellis nodded. “We have no engagements until tomorrow, I made sure of it. Let me show you the master bathroom. I think you’ll be pleased,” he purred, kissing Igor’s jawline and weaving their fingers together to lead him upstairs. He picked up his case and cocked his head towards the staircase with an arched brow, red lips curved to a  kittenish smile.

The bedroom decor was masculine but decadent, just like Ellis, a reflection of him in every painting and curved wall sconce and lighting fixture. A generous, queen size bed sat on the center, covered in simple but luxe bedding of brown, white and black.

The master bathroom was spectacular - white marble everywhere, a fireplace, a black velvet chaise lounge, and an enormous, ivory claw-foot tub at the focal point.

“No one to interrupt, just you and I, all night, together. I admit, I’m looking forward to waking up with you in my bed,” Ellis said.

Igor almost growled out his response. Thinking of being alone like this all night, and for days with Ellis was almost too much to take, and not nearly enough. Not enough because eventually it would be over but for now he was content to just stay in the present. No sense in ruining the moment by thinking of the inevitable. Snaking an arm around his waist, he kissed the side of his neck, his cock twitching just thinking of the things they could do and would do. “So am I, there is no doubt about that.”

They brought their luggage upstairs and Ellis hung his suits and clothes up in the armoire, he stopped and looked over at Igor. Tall and handsome, powerful shoulders, so proud, quiet yet passionate...it was easy to see, at least in his mind, why he’d become so readily infatuated with the man.

“I thought we might go out to dinner, one of my favorite Italian places is not a few blocks away, and the air is nice,” he said with a smile.

“A right good idea,” Igor said, smiling back. He was pretty hungry, and while he wanted to whisk Ellis into the bedroom, or wherever, sustenance was needed. “Let me change and then we can adjourn to dine.”

“I’m going to wash up and change too,” Ellis said, taking off his jacket and waistcoat. He strolled over to Igor to touch his cheek, then went off to the master bathroom.

Moments later Ellis came out dressed in a dark blue suit, combing his sleek dark hair. He looked at himself in the mirror, adjusting his tie.

Igor came out in a brown vested suit, bow tie. His hair was slicked back, glasses in place. When he caught sight of Ellis, his heart seemed to skip a beat. “You look very handsome, Mr Bartlett,” he crooned and then kissed the knob of his jaw.

Ellis’ eyes closed in bliss, thick, dark lashes against the blush of his cheek. “As do you,  _ Maestro _ . Dinner tonight is just for us,” he said softly, fingers drifting over Igor’s fine suit and down his chest.

“Thank you,” Igor murmured, then curled his fingers around Ellis’ jaw to kiss kiss lips. He forced himself to move back and smiled, happy as he could be to dine with his love. “I'm ready whenever you are.”

***

They took a cab to the restaurant, Ellis taking the opportunity to hold Igor’s hand while they still had a bit of privacy. Once in the public place he knew they’d need to be more professional, of course, should anyone recognize Igor. He kissed him once, smiling which made his moustache twitch the slightest bit. “Don’t worry, I shant kiss you when we’re inside,” he said with a blush, squeezing Igor’s leg.

“Then maybe I shall have to pull you someplace private when we both get the itch,” Igor responded, giving Ellis a kiss in return, his finger trailing over his lover’s perfect cupid’s bow. He got out, and waited for him to join his side, his hands clasped behind his back as they made their way up the steps to the restaurant.

Ellis was still blushing when they entered the restaurant, flushed from Igor’s kiss and whispered promise. The maitre d' recognized him straightaway, greeting him with a bow. “Good evening sir! We have your private table ready, though it is a bit busy tonight. This way, gentlemen,” he said, as another young man in a tuxedo walked them to their table. The restaurant was indeed busy, but they were led to a relatively quiet table in the corner, one where they could certainly dine and converse in peace.

“Perhaps I do come here a bit often. They know me,” he laughed, eyes twinkling as he looked back at Igor. “They make a devilishly good bolognese here, if you should fancy it,” he said, thanking the man as he left them to their table.

“I will try your recommendation,” Igor said, feeling a twinge of jealousy. He wondered just how many men or women Ellis had come there with, who he’d dine with and then taken back to his villa. Still, he didn’t say that, he had dignity to maintain of course. With a smile, he met his eyes, unable not to when he saw the way his face lit up. “I fancy everything about this night, but especially the company.”

Ellis’ eyes darkened as he gazed at the man across the table. The feeling in his chest was like a wild thing wanting to tear free, love, was it? He only knew that he wanted to savor every second with the handsome composer. “I admit, I feel the same. Rather the best company I could ask for, to be honest,” he confessed, a sweet smile crossing his features.

Igor felt hot, so very hot under his tawny skin. He looked around then raised his foot to affectionately graze Ellis’, just briefly, and in time for their order to be taken. After they had done so, and were alone again with their drinks, he smiled. “Then we are on the same page. Shall we toast to that?”

Ellis raised his glass, the apples of his cheeks rosy with the effect even the small flirtation had on him. “I believe we should. To being on the same page...in all things, yes?” he said with a quirk of his brow and a smile, blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight. 

“Yes,” Igor hummed, clinking his glass with Ellis’, then brought it to his lips to take a sip. He licked the residual, then used a cloth napkin to get the rest from his moustache, his eyes not leaving those sparkling hues for a moment. “I believe we are in harmony, on the same page, and continuing to be.”

Ellis had so much he wanted to say, but the point of fact was they were here to spend a few nights away from Katia, just the two of them, and he didn’t want anything to interrupt that. What it all meant, what the future held, he’d leave that all aside for now, besides, he continually told himself that he couldn’t afford to let himself fall for this man...how foolish….he already had, of course.

Lifting his drink to his lips, he took a long drink and nodded. “We are indeed, My dear Maestro.” He lifted his foot and briefly touched Igor’s, rubbing his ankle discreetly.  

Igor smiled and took a drink, licking his lips as he gazed at Ellis. His emotions were high, tempo quickening, and he knew then that he too, was in love. The touch scent his skin pebbling, his whole body buzzing. “I'm more than content to know that.”

They didn’t have to wait long for their food, and the waitstaff were eager to please, catering specially to Ellis since he was such a frequent and popular customer. A sommelier came to pour them new glasses of wine, and the brunet sipped at it, letting the flavors dance across his tongue. He was a hedonist in all things, and especially in appetites of the flesh like wine, food and sex.

Taking a bite of his pasta, he licked his lips and hummed around the food. “I’ve gotten a rough outline made for the book. I’d like to hear more of your life growing up, perhaps what inspired you to become a composer,” Ellis began, and then took another bite, ruby lips wrapping sensually around his fork as he watched with curious eyes.

“My father played bass at the Kiev opera house and the Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg. Music was an influence for me at an early age. I began piano lessons as a young boy, and studied music theory and composition," Stravinsky explained, looking into the beautiful blue of Ellis' eyes as he regaled him with the tale of his beginnings. "I felt moved when I saw a performance of Tchaikovsky's ballet, _ the Sleeping Beauty _ , but the desire was always there."

Ellis watched him with rapt attention. It was enchanting to listen to Igor as he described his youth. “You’re so confident and handsome and regal, I can’t even picture you as a boy. I wish I could’ve seen you then.”

“Thank you,” Igor smiled, taking another bite of his food. They continued on like that for some time, minutes turning into an hour until at least they’d finished their food, and the composer had given Ellis a considerable amount of information on his youth, his family, his music, and even how he’d met Katia. There was plenty of information there to fill up quite a lot of pages.

With the last sip of drink done, Igor leaned forward, mirth in his eyes. “Let’s retire, yes?”

Ellis’ bright blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight, and he nodded eagerly, licking his lips. “That sounds perfect to me. Plenty more to...discuss at home, hmm?”

So they did just that, rising from the table once the bill had been paid, heading back to the privacy of Ellis’ place.


	4. Chapter 4

When they arrived back, Igor removed his shoes, and his coat, as well as his hat, then helped Ellis with his own. “I think a nice bath is in order, don’t you?”

Ellis leaned into him as soon as he’d hung up their coats, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” he responded, tugging Igor by his tie gently upstairs.

In the bathroom, before getting undressed, Ellis started the water, preparing the bath first - a little too hot and then it could cool down a moment as they undressed. Sauntering back into the master bedroom, he removed his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt, watching the handsome composer.

Igor licked his lips, following Ellis’ quite appealing backside, hastily undoing his tie, shirt, and then his pants once his shoes were kicked off. “I cannot think of a better way to end the evening,” he all but purred. Once both of their shirts were off, he stepped closer and palmed down Ellis’ chest, tracing a pert nipple. “Ellis…”

The brunet moaned, his nipple hardening beneath Igor’s touch. He reached long fingers to his skin as well, slender digits combing through chest hair; oh how he loved the feeling of it rubbing against his own smooth chest. He stopped to undo his fly, letting his breeches and underwear fall to the floor as he kicked them free. His cock stood proud and hard, bobbing against Igor’s belly when he moved closer. “Ahhh, yes, Igor…”

With a seeking hand, Igor reached between them and wrapped skilled fingers around the thickness of Ellis’ silky, turgid flesh. He began to stroke slowly, thumbing over his damp slit with a muted, wanton breath. His other hand snaked around the muscular expanse of Ellis’ waist, trailing to his posterior, where he began to knead, spreading him open. “Ellis, you are feast for the senses.”

Ellis pressed against the taller man, keening as those talented fingers explored his body. He walked him backwards toward the tub and leaned down to turn off the water, steam rising and fogging the mirrors. The sweet scent of sandalwood and amber filled the bathroom with the rich oils he’d added to the bath. Stepping in first, he turned to Igor, holding out his hand.

Igor took it, and stepped inside, chasing Ellis’ body as he moved them so that he was behind when seated in the tub. He immediately pulled the other against his broad frame, water cascading off of taut sinew. Gently, he scattered kisses along his lover’s shoulder, fingers pinching gingerly to harden those alluring nipples once more. “I could never tire of this dance with you.”

Ellis’ head lolled back against Igor’s shoulder as he let out a wanton moan, his ass pressing back against the composer’s growing length. It felt so good to feel Igor respond to him, his hardness against the soft plush curves of his backside. “Neither could I, my handsome Maestro,” he sighed, turning his head just enough to capture his lover’s mouth in a kiss. His tongue snaked inside Igor’s mouth, exploring as he rutted in his lap, hands massaging the muscular thighs on either side of his body.

It was such a debauched, utterly unhinged scene that it begged Igor’s cock for release then and there. He didn’t. He was more restrained than that, and instead, one of his hands traveled down the length of Ellis’ torso, to his cock, where he stroked once more, alternating between that, and fondling his balls, letting his fingertips brush down between his cheeks to graze his entrance, then back up again. All of this while they made out, water splashing subtly around them, the heat and their passion causing a fog to spread inside the bathroom. No words were spoken this time, only quiet grunts, and kissing noises, the occasional slap of fist hitting the surface of the bath as he pleasured the journalist.

Ellis’ body responded as it had every time he was with Igor, with need and unrestrained hunger. He arched his spine, rocking himself back and forth into his tight grip. “This is bloody pure heaven. I want to stay with you forever like this. Just you and me, Igor,” he panted. “I’ve never wanted anyone as desperately as I want you, you know that?”

“I do now,” Igor rumbled, brushing his lips, his moustache against the damp skin of Ellis’ neck, just before he kissed and nipped there. He pinched the shaft gently between forefinger and thumb, his own cock pressing hard against the ample backside that was against him, precome mixing with the water and suds. “I must admit that I feel quite the same.”

Ellis began to writhe against the older man, and he reached for a bar of soap and sat up to turn around and face him. Straddling him, he rubbed his hands together until a nice leather built up, and ran his hands down Igor’s chest and belly, between his legs. Eyes locked feverishly on those beautiful dark gold ones, he licked his lips and stroked him. “Good…”

“ _ Very _ good,” Igor groaned, sniffing, and snarling just a little as his hands ran down to take the soap, slicking his fingers before they found the round of Ellis’ cheeks. He slipped a digit between them, rubbing over his pucker, finding those lips yet again in a slow, passionate kiss. Every bit of his body yearned for the other’s and thoughts of his wife were nowhere to be found.

Ellis licked into Igor’s mouth, his moustache tickling softly against his nose as the brunet became more heated with each passing second. Hands braced themselves on broad, strong shoulders, teeth clashing as he moaned whorishly. He pressed his ass into Igor’s fingers, his body demanding more. “Please...please…”

Igor all but growled at the sweet little moan from Ellis. It made him want more of that, so he decided to continue playing his body like a piano. Skilled fingers slipping inside, one at a time, until he’d put two in, and began pumping them in and out slowly, sucking on the other’s lower lip hungrily. “Ellis… you are so tight.”

Hot sudsy water splashed over Ellis’ toned thighs, as he moved himself back and forth in rhythm with Igor’s touch. His cock throbbed and pushed between them and before long, he was panting and groaning whorishly, his begging turning into ragged pleas. “I want you, I want you inside, I need you,” he implored. Pulling the small bottle of oil from the ledge, he poured it over his fingers and reached for Igor’s cock, slicking him up.

Not one to deny himself, or his lover, Igor pressed his cock inside, gripping Ellis’ hips as the lubricant squelched out and trickled into the water. “I want you too,” he murmured, sucking a mark on the journalist’s neck, scraping his teeth there. “Mmm.”

Ellis moved at an agonizingly slow pace at first, as it took some work to get the Russian’s thick length all the way inside. A little more with each roll of his hips, and soon he was seated to the hilt; he felt impossibly full, and the burning stretch was delicious. It was painful, but the  _ good _ kind of pain. His jaw hung open as he stared into Igor’s eyes and began bouncing up and down, splashing the hot water around them. “So good, so big,” he muttered and kissed him again, plunging his tongue inside Igor’s mouth.

Igor let Ellis do all the moving at first, having opened him with his fingers but perhaps the lubricant wasn’t very compatible with the water as it seemed he was in more pain than he’d hoped for. The composer kissed him, holding his face reverently. “I do not want you to be injured,” he whispered, letting out a moan when he felt the constriction once more.

Ellis shook his head and gripped the sides of the tub, squeezing Igor with his strong thighs. He sat down fully engulfing him with his body, taking him deep, and gasped when the thick head of Igor’s cock stroked his small, almond shaped gland inside. “Fuck, it’s so good, it’s perfect,” he moaned, his biceps flexing as he began working himself up and down faster.

“Yes,” was all Igor could muster, his whole being taken over with pleasure. He canted his hips up, meeting each downward thrust that Ellis gave him, strong arms holding him close. It was sensational, and he never wanted it to end. The water began to slosh a little over the sides, suds with it, but he hardly cared, and brought a wet hand to his lover’s face, getting on his own as they kissed, wetting them. “Fuck-”

Ellis leaned his body to one side, taking his own length in his hand as he rode Igor with utter abandon. His thighs pushing him up and down heatedly over Igor’s cock, he could feel the orgasm building in him with every tap of that bulbous head on his prostate. “Gods, Igor, I’m close, I’m so close,” he pled, voice ragged and hoarse from his moans of pleasure. “

“As am I,” Igor grunted, groaning as loudly as he wanted to since they were all alone, no one to hear them, or to catch them. It was bliss. He gripped Ellis’ ass, spreading him, then kneading, his toes curling just at the surface of the water, which was still spilling onto the floor. The maid would get it when she came on duty. “Harder, I… oh gods, Ellis. I don’t want this to end.”

Ellis opened his eyes, previously closed in bliss and leveled an intense gaze into Igor’s beautiful amber ones. “I don’t either, but oh gods, I can’t…” he cried out, groaning in a jagged roar as he came. White ropes fell across Igor’s chest and down his own belly, painting them each as the water had receded somewhat. “Igor...Igor…!”

How beautifully Ellis came undone. It inspired Igor’s own climax, combined with the vice-like grip around his cock. He came then, filling his lover’s ass with hot spend, coating his walls as he bit into his mouth, feeding from him, and swallowing every sound he made. The composer was growing more and more obsessed, greedy for all things Ellis. “Ellis, oh Ellis-!”

The brunet leaned forward, holding Igor’s face in both hands and licking the beautiful, rough groans from his mouth. He adored everything Igor offered him, and felt frantic to keep him for his own, all his own. He realized at that moment he could never be satisfied until the man was his, and he didn’t have to share him with another. “My Igor, how I love you,” he finally exhaled, the admission the first time he’d uttered the words. He felt a pain in his heart even as he did, knowing how vulnerable he’d just made himself to heartbreak.

Igor’s eyes widened but warmth filled them and he kissed him back, catching his breath. “I love you too,” he confessed back. His heart raced and he felt the same need to be with just Ellis. It was tricky because he did care about his wife but not romantically.

***

The days that followed in London were nothing short of magical, a spell that Ellis wished would never come to an end. They made love every night and morning, in some form or another, stroking each other off, tasting one another...Ellis couldn’t get enough, couldn’t keep his hands off the elegant, handsome composer. Even the meeting with the publisher went better than he could have anticipated, the men clearly impressed with the way Ellis wove Igor’s life story, one full of passion, hardship, promise and what they hoped would be tremendous success. Already there was a buzz beginning about Stravinsky, and Ellis encouraged him to keep writing.

Igor was pleased of course, quite delighted that things were turning out well. It was unfortunate that they had to leave though, and get back to Paris. 

The composer was torn. He was in love with Ellis, but he had a wife who added to his guilt. What was to be done? He knew eventually he would have to choose and his heart knew what the answer was already. They went back to the Parisian villa, and upon returning Ellis was already making plans and setting up more meetings. He’d hired someone to dictate to, reading from his extensive notes of conversations with Igor, vetting everything he wrote with the composer before committing it to the written page. Things seemed to be proceeding smoothly.

With his endorsement and money to fund it, Ellis had convinced the symphony and dance company that had worked with Igor previously to bring back  _ The Rite of Spring _ , this time with more fanfare and buzz. After the controversy of the riots, more people were curious to see it again, and while the opera house was skeptical, Ellis’ money went a long way in greasing the wheels.

Ellis was right in the middle of planning a dinner party at his home to celebrate the upcoming opening night performance and generate more interest - he’d invited all the elite in politics as well as social circles, even bringing in heavy hitters from London for the event. He’d be presenting this critical audience with passes to the concert, all meant to showcase Stravinsky as well as build excitement for the biography.

As Ellis did that, Igor got settled in with Katia. He’d barely said a word to her in detail since returning but she’d pulled him aside in their room. It felt odd being alone with her.

“What is it, Katia?”

“Igor,” Katia began, pain and knowing clear in her light eyes, eyes that were still bright but perhaps not quite as much as they had been. It was the effect of pain, of understanding that what was once hers, was no longer. It throbbed and ached in her chest, so much that she couldn’t sleep at night. Be that as it may, she was a strong woman. “You’ve been different. Let’s leave here.”

“Where would you have us go, hm?” Igor asked, his tone clipped. “I am working well here, my name is getting out, thanks to Mister Bartlett.”

“Yes, you are working well. There is a passion I’ve never heard before in your compositions.”

While she wasn’t direct yet, what she said spoke volumes.

“I’m not leaving.”

“And would you care if I left?” Katia asked Igor, which earned her a sympathetic look then.

Igor took her hands in his own. “I do love you, Katia. Of course I would care. I-” 

“Have you slept with him?”

Igor just held his wife’s gaze for what seemed like an eternity, his silence saying more than he cared to. He looked down then, as his her fingers slipped through his own.

“End this abomination, Igor. Finish your work, and then we can leave.”

Igor stood. “There will be a dinner party soon. I expect you to make preparations and to comport yourself.”

He left the room. Nothing more to say.

***

Ever the charming host, Ellis greeted everyone as they arrived, but one particular face gave him pause. A young man, redheaded and freckled but incredibly handsome, a brash but charming American; Phillip Schuler was his name. A fellow journalist he’d once had a dalliance with, he came as the guest of one of his “confirmed bachelor” friends, Charles Bean, and Australian journalist. It was odd to see him again, and he just hoped there’d be no issues between the man and Igor.

As they all sat at the great dining room table, Ellis at the head, he noted Philip had gone to sit beside Igor, quite unfortunately.

Nodding, Ellis decided to at least make the introductions all around the table to announce the guest of honor.

“Maestro Stravinsky has graced us with his presence this fine evening. Please raise a glass to this incredibly talented man, and to great successes in the near future! Cheers!”

Igor raised his glass, along with Katia, who was seated across from him and took a sip, looking between Ellis and Phillip. He hid his curiosity well and quirked a small smile of thanks. “Cheers to you, Mister Bartlett,” he said instead, licking his lips as Katia cleared her throat quietly.

“Thank you ever so much,” Ellis nodded with a smile, and politely waited for the guest of honor to take a bite before starting himself, who then did.

Phillip darted glances at Ellis, but as the wine began to flow, they became more outright lustful stares. He was on the other side of Igor however, so he decided to make conversation while Charles was busy chatting with Lester.

Everyone continued drinking and eating, but there was an unspoken tension hanging in the room, one that Katia wasn’t unaware of. She could tell her husband was growing angry, and she didn’t pretend to know why. She was preparing to whisper to him that they should take their leave when she saw Phillip lean over towards Igor.

“And how did our Ellis make your acquaintance, Mr. Stravinsky?” he asked with an innocent air.

Igor looked at Phillip, alcohol starting to warm him now. He was tipsy in fact, the food eaten and now it was just drinks. He bashed his fist on the table, which jolted Katia.  _ Jealousy. _ Of course Igor was jealous. It hurt.

With a breath, he brushed his hair from his eyes. “ _ Our   _ Ellis… yes. He attended my concert,  _ Phillip _ .”

Phillip looked from Igor’s fist and back up to his face with a smirk. “My goodness. Just as spirited as your music, I see. Did I say something out of turn?”  Turning to face him quietly and whisper out of earshot of the other guests, Philip continued. “Perhaps you’ve sampled my little English muffin? He’s quite a delicacy, even for Americans.”

Igor’s face turned red at that. His fist tightening on the table and he cut his eyes to Ellis, conveying as much. “I am Russian and-”

That was when he felt the soft touch of Katia’s hand around his bicep. “I am going to bed. Igor, are you coming?”

“No.”

“Very well. If you all will excuse me. Phillip, it was nice meeting you. Ellis, thank you. Goodnight everyone.”

Igor just nodded, seething with rage. When Katia was gone, he got up after downing the rest of his drink and went into his study. He began playing furious notes on the piano, loud enough for all to hear.

Ellis in his wine-lubricated state, had only noticed something was wrong when he left and he caught sight of his face. The expression was a sort of look as he’d never seen him wear before. He looked furious. Clearing his throat, he began sending the guests home. In the bustle of coats being gathered and goodbye’s being said, Phillip stopped Ellis, taking him by the arm to talk to him privately. He tugged him into his study, and Ellis quickly put a hand on his arm to release himself and push the man away.

“Unhand me, Schuler! What the devil’s wrong with you, man?” Ellis sputtered in consternation.

“That man is far too old and ugly for a beauty like you, Bartlett, and you know it. Don’t you think of me sometimes?” the redheaded man whispered, leaning close.

“Never,” he protested. “Get away from me, I don't think of you that way, not anymore. And you’re with Charles anyhow, right?”

It was then that Charles came around the corner. “Ah, there you are, Phillip. Are you ready to go?” he asked, looking obviously from one to the other.

“Yes, of course, Charles. Bartlett, thank you for having us,” Philip answered politely. As Charles turned he only stared after Ellis, who ignored him as he walked them to the door.

As everyone was finally gone, Ellis sagged against the door in resigned exhaustion. Igor was angry about something, Phillip was mental, and all he could still hear was Igor upstairs pounding at his piano. But why? What set him off? Confused and feeling the tension vibrating through the walls and floor, Ellis climbed the stairs and entered Igor’s study, his face etched with concern.

“Igor? Igor!”

Igor kept playing, cutting his eyes to Ellis for a moment, then back at the keys, relentless in his anger. He felt a jealous rage, a fury he couldn’t explain and it was all coming through his music. Katia’s reaction didn’t matter, the guests there didn’t matter, if they’d left? It was of no consequence. All he could feel was a blind madness surging through him.

Ellis rushed forward and confronted him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Igor, what’s wrong, love?” he asked in a worried voice.

“Love?” Igor asked, stopping his playing, unaware that Katia noticed the halt, grasping her fingers white knuckled in the bedsheets she was under. No, he didn’t know that at all. “Am I your love? Or is Phillip?”

Ellis’ face tensed up. “Phillip?” he sputtered, pacing back and forth, trying to reign in his own rising temper. “Well, I didn’t expect Bean to bring the man. I didn’t even know they were an item. I’d never have invited him otherwise. He’s a nuisance, he was a casual fling ages ago, he’s nothing to me. I don’t appreciate being embarrassed in front of all my friends with my guest of honor acting like a petulant child!” he spat out angrily, stopping in front of the piano.

“Igor Stravinsky embarrasses no one! Especially not a journalist!” Igor raised his voice, standing up quickly, nearly knocking over the piano bench. He was livid at the insinuation, his ego bruised at being called out in such a way - even if it was true. “I upset your ex-lover, which upset you. He whispered his feelings to me. I see now it is reciprocal.”

“Reciprocal? That’s utterly  _ false _ , Igor. What did he say to you? I have neither seen nor spoken to the man in years, not until tonight. It would do you well to know he did stop me after dinner and propositioned me - I refused.  _ Of course I refused.  _ Because I love you, you temperamental fool! There’s no one else I love. Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” Ellis went to face him, his cheeks blazing. His blue eyes were damp with the emotion of the moment.

“Said he’s had you. That you’re a delicacy, his...English muffin,” Igor said, almost growling out the words. He grabbed Ellis by the lapels of his coat, seething with anger. “Tonight you have! I love you, but do you love me? Do you really love a man you perceive to be a fool?”

He was in Ellis’ face, his own eyes red and damp from emotion and alcohol. It was what was making him so irrational. Partly. Down deep he knew he was being a hypocrite. Even if Ellis was with that other man, who was he to be angry? He was married after all and hadn’t even mentioned giving Katia up, nor had Ellis asked him to.

Ellis slammed his fist down on the piano lid, not enough to damage but enough to make a point. “That’s bloody bollocks, and entirely disrespectful. How dare he? And worse, you believe him? I know I’ve perhaps got a certain reputation, but I’ve not been...I’ve not been with anyone since we’ve been together. And you’re bloody married! You have some nerve, Igor, I just…” Ellis huffed, his face red and sweaty with liquor and ire.

“The way you were looking at him said a lot,” Igor mentioned, his anger calming just a minute when the topic of his marriage was brought up. He began to pace, back and forth, still upset but things were spiraling. “You knew I was, it wasn’t a secret. This is different. Entirely different!”

Tears began forming in Ellis’ blue eyes, his voice punctuating the air around them. “It’s worse, Igor. I’m like a dirty little secret. I’m unimportant to you, and as long as you’re with her, I will always be a mere distraction, decoration, nothing more. You think it’s easy having you leave my bed every night to sleep by her side? How dare you…” he choked out. “I cannot deal with this heartbreak anymore…” he gasped, the tears finally falling free, and he turned and quickly left, escaping to his room.

Igor went to follow, but his door had been locked. All he could do was return to the room he shared with Katia, that was after a few more drinks.

He ended up sleeping in spare room. Meanwhile, Ellis had hastily packed his bags and left a note for Igor:

_ “Going away for a few days, back to London. You are still welcome to stay as long as desired. I will be in touch. Best, Ellis.” _

_ *** _

The next morning Igor woke to his wife touching his arm.

“Igor,” Katia began, looking much better now. She was recovered. Which was good news to Igor but he was defeated from the alcohol and spat last night.

“What is it, Katia?”

“I’ve come to wake you, and to tell you that I am leaving.”

That woke him and he sat up. “Don’t go, Katia… it’s… it’s nearly done.”

Of course he meant his relationship with Ellis. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he assumed the worst.

“Why should I stay? Come with me, Igor.”

“I… I cannot. I have to stay a while longer.”

Katia nodded solemnly and walked into their room. Igor followed. He saw her bags were packed.

“I’m sorry,” Igor finally said. “There’s no changing your mind?”

“No, but you know where to find me, if you wish. I love you, Igor.”

Igor got her bags and helped her carry them out front, where a car was waiting. Once she was inside, he touched her shoulder and kissed her hand. “I love you, Katia.”

She gave him a weak smile through teary eyes, and off she went. They’d been high school sweethearts but it had faded. The only love he had for her now was familial. Still, he watched until the car was out of sight then he ran back inside, up to Ellis’ room to grovel.

When he got there, he saw the note. Igor collapsed on the bed. Ellis’. It smelled like him and he wallowed in it, clutching the note as tears formed in his blood shot eyes. He’d lost them both, due to pride and ego.

But maybe not. Maybe he could win Ellis back. He had to. Ellis was who he wanted. Ah but time was already passing slowly. The composer tried to get some work done, but couldn’t, and ended up slinging the papers on the floor, making a mess of his work area. He had to get a hold of himself. He would. There was no other way.

_ *** _

In London, Ellis tried his best to shake off his funk. He didn’t know what exactly he was going to do about Igor, but he was determined to feel better about himself. He got carried away with drink a few nights, carousing with old friends. Lester was by his side and very concerned for him; he knew Ellis cared more for Igor than anyone else he’d been with. Ellis prided himself on being a free spirit, by no means improper - still a perfect gentleman - but it was no secret he was wanted by many. Yet he could tell his friend was completely taken by the sharp tempered, exotic and talented composer.

In addition to drinking far too much every night, Ellis passed the time shopping, dinner with friends at the best restaurants in town, seeing and being seen as he loved to do. It didn’t take much to start a celebration wherever he went, his charm and sometimes bawdy humor disarming people. While people swarmed around him, everyone desiring to be in his light, he still found one person in the center of his mind and heart -  _ Igor _ . He mused on what to do; it was breaking him down having Katia there, being a secret. Especially when he’d grown to love Igor so much. He found himself wanting to return to France, but with conditions. No more sex with Igor. He’d have to choose- Katia or him. While an ultimatum was dramatic, he just knew he could no longer stand the jealousy tearing him apart.

And so after about a week, he made his way back to his Parisian villa.

***

The time Igor spent without Ellis wasn’t pleasurable in the least. He missed him greatly. Meetings with the publisher weren’t as productive either. While he was a master composer, he lacked a certain finesse when it came to social interactions. Be that as it may, he hardly noticed.

Nights were spent trying to work and even there he was faltering. Nothing could get him focused, not when his mind was a buzz and his heart ached. Katia was gone, which hurt in a different way, but this should be their time to reconcile, to celebrate. Instead they were kilometers apart.

Finally, one morning after getting ready for the day, Igor heard the car pull up, he paced, waiting and watching as the luggage was brought in. It was disappointing when Ellis didn’t come right up to see him, and instead went to the woods. Swifty he followed, his pace hastening until he’d caught up to Ellis.

“Were you not going to tell me you’d returned?”

Clad in his traveling clothes - a loose white cotton shirt, suspenders and high-waisted britches - Ellis turned to look at him, an empty, wounded look in his sky blue eyes. “Why? You don't wish to see me. Why don’t you go back to  _ Katia _ ,” he said in a low voice.

Igor couldn’t take it. The look in Ellis’ eyes, those lips, his physique. It was where he should have told Ellis that he wasn’t with Katia any longer, but instead all he could do was move closer. When he noticed the other man backing away, rejecting his advances, it was too much and he gripped his shoulders, forcing a kiss against his lips.

Ellis turned his face away from Igor, twisting to get away, and braced his arms against his chest, shoving the man roughly. “Don’t you _ dare _ touch me,” he hissed, stumbling backwards against a tree and scowling ferociously.

Igor moved in and pressed his body against Ellis’, right there on the tree as he held his face. “Ellis… I love you… Katia’s gone, just...just let me... “ While the words were loving his tone was rough, and his movements more so, he leaned in to kiss him again, not thinking clearly. Blind desperation, sorrow, love, and anger were all present, clouding his mind. “You want me, as much as I want you… you should damn well admit it.”

At that Ellis jerked his face away and slapped Igor as hard as he could, pushing the center of his chest again. “Gone? She has more sense than I gave her credit for, and clearly more pride than I’ve got. So that’s it then, why you’re here. You’ve got no one else and now you want me to be your sloppy seconds?” He seethed, and sweat formed along his brow, chest heaving up and down from the effort. It was more than he could bear.

“No!” Igor yelled, a rarity for the man, and then he right back up against Ellis. “I love you, did you not hear me?” He snarled, his face stinging, burning like fire, and wrenched a hand into Ellis’ hair in the back of his head. “Look at me, look into my eyes. You see no love? You think I’m here only because she left? I could have went with her. I  _ chose _ to stay.”

“Unhand me!” Ellis protested, fighting against the bigger man's grip. Reluctantly he looked him in the eyes, his own filled with a raging hurricane of emotion. Anger, jealousy and pride rampaged through him at full throttle, and as Igor held him still he trembled. But there was love there, he felt it and it was the reason behind his rage. “Do you suppose I would care so much if I didn’t bloody love you? I let myself fall for you. I never do that. Bartlett, the man’s man, the one with parties you can’t miss, the one they all act like they live because I have money and charm but turn my back and I’m an annoying braggart, a cad and a whore. That what you want, eh?” Ellis demanded, voice raw from shouting.

Igor removed his hands then, holding them up. He wasn’t a rapist so he wouldn’t force Ellis. “I do not think you are any of that,” he yelled, though his voice began to falter. He gripped him again, pulling him close, desperate for love and acceptance from the man he wanted more than anything in the world. “Won’t you stop being a stubborn brat and listen to me!”

All Ellis could see were those mesmerizing, intense eyes of beryl, eyes that made him feel as though he were the most important person in the world. The only one who existed in that moment- only Igor and Ellis were in the universe. Impulsively he lunged at the man, knocking him back against the next tree, and kissed him hard. Biting his lips, the smaller man wrapped his hands around Igor’s wrists, plunging his tongue into his mouth like his very life depended on it.

It shocked Igor, but he was impressed and happy with Ellis’ move. Against the tree he found himself, positions switched now, and he curled his fingers into his palms as his wrists were held. The composer growled, kissing him back with equal fervor, not pulling away, not resisting. He loved him very much and feeling their tongues entwine again, after what felt like an eternity, assured him that he was home once more. His hips rolled, as much as they could, a leg moving to hook around Ellis’ thick one, as his cock grew to full hardness.

“Bloody hell, I love you so much…” Ellis gasped breathlessly and pushed his groin against Igor’s, releasing his wrists and grabbing the front of his shirt violently, tearing it open and roving his hands down his chest. He trapped the man’s arms at his side pushing it off his muscular shoulders until he was bare on top. Ellis leaned up and began sucking hard kisses all along his neck. He was ravenous for him, anger swelling into passion.

“I love you too,” Igor grunted, letting Ellis take the control. He didn’t care if he was giving that up, even if he was usually the one in charge. No, this was about something deeper than that. Each kiss felt like a brand on his skin, a claiming mark from his lover. One he never wished to have vanish from his skin. He couldn’t help but grin just faintly, hips writhing. “Yes, yes, just like that. Don’t you dare venture to stop.”

Ellis panted against Igor’s neck, shaky hands manipulating his belt buckle and unzipping him to reach in and palm over his cock. It was hot, hard and already leaking when he wrapped his hand around him and tugged. He groaned as he sucked the skin of the composer's neck between his teeth, pulling foreskin over the tip as he felt it grow even harder in his hand. “I want you to fuck me…”

“Here,” Igor began, grunting as he reached into his pocket to procure a little bottle of lotion. He only had it due to it being Katia’s, and he’d tucked it into his pocket to put away when he’d heard the car pull up. “Use this, my love.”

Ellis took the bottle with a sigh and quickly undid his own breeches, unhooking his suspenders and letting them hang down while the fabric dropped to his knees. His ass now bare, he spread lotion on his own fingers and turned around, gazing with hooded eyes and flushed cheeks at his lover. Panting, he began fingering himself open, long digits slipping between his ass cheeks and disappearing. He threw his head back and moaned as his fingers sank inside.

“Ellis…” Igor grunted, the sight entirely debauched, especially there in public, even if they were pretty deep into the woods. He got down on his knees and took Ellis’ cock into his mouth, wordlessly, laving his tongue around the shaft, suckling the tip, then bobbing up and down wetly. His own cock was hard against his belly, precome smearing against his shirt. He hardly cared. Ellis was back, and they were reunifying. That was all that mattered.

“Oh….ohhhh…!” Ellis cried out as his cock was engulfed, every inch throbbing under the full, soft lips and wet cavern of his mouth. He added another finger and pumped them in and out, eager to ready himself. His fingers weren’t able to hit his prostate the way the composer’s cock could, and every nerve ending in his body pled desperately for more stimulation. After several minutes, cock dripping with pre come and spit, he had three digits inside and pulled them out, retrieving the lotion and motioning Igor to stand. “Please take me now, Igor, please…”

Igor stood up and took the lotion so he could slather his cock. He kissed Ellis, then turned him around to face the tree, one hand on his hip, the other around his own shaft. “Yes,” he said, and then slowly pressed inside the hot clutch of the journalist’s body, hips rocking carefully until he finally breached and seated himself. A deep, throaty groan left his lips when he had, and he began to pant against Ellis’ neck. “Oh, Ellis-”

Sweat built up over Ellis’ dark mustache, his eyes dilated as raw need took over. Igor was so big, he felt he’d never get enough of him, the burn, the fullness, the perfect pressure deep inside. He pressed his ass back against him, wordlessly moaning out a plea of more by virtue of his sharp panting breaths and the hitch in his voice. He reached behind and pulled his cheeks wider. “Gods yes, more, more…”

Happy to olidge, Igor went harder, gripping both of Ellis’ hips as his own worked and pumped. He filled up his ass over and over, his balls slapping, echoing there in that forest as sweat began to bead on his tawny skin. Enough that he felt it going between his cheeks and down his thighs. It was primal, and he leaned forward to bite at the nape of Ellis’ neck, wanting to taste the salt off of his skin. “You feel sensational. I love you, I want you to be mine, just mine, always.”

“Bite harder...mark me as yours...I am only yours, as...as long as you’ll have me,” Ellis grunted roughly. One hand braced against the bark of the tree, the other moving to stroke his heated flesh.

Igor pulled out then and spun Ellis around hoisting him in his arms just before reentering. He kissed him sloppily, knees bent, fucking up into him against that tree. “I’m only yours, I won’t go back to Katia. I’ve already sent for the divorce papers,” he grunted, then licked down to his lover’s neck. “So yes, I’ll have you, as long as you’ll have me.”

That was when Igor bit him, hard and claiming, just below his collar bone. It made him come, hot and thick, beyond his control, and with a loud muffled groan.

It was all he wanted - Katia out of Igor’s life, so he could have him all to himself. The sensation of flesh pierced by teeth shattered over him the same moment Igor climaxed; he came then, seed shooting up their chests, Ellis’ ragged moans filling the air around them. “Oh Igor, I love you so much, I love you. I love you,” he whispered over and over.

“I love you,” Igor panted, laving over the wound he’d made, then kissed back up to his mouth for another kiss. When Ellis came, he thrusted until they were both to sensitive to keep at it. He held his face then, whispering it back a few times, peppering kisses over his face. “I cannot ever lose you again. Do you hear me, love? Never again, please.”

With a confirmation from Ellis, the pair continued kissing and just...holding each other. They cleaned up and enjoyed a nice supper together.

The divorce didn’t take long and eventually word of their union spread, just as Stravinsky’s fame did, thanks to Ellis and of course, his own talent. Katia eventually would remarry, which made Igor happy, he didn’t hate her after all , but he had the love he wanted and with someone he never had imagined having it with. They both felt that way. To top it off, Ellis’ book was selling and with it, his name was growing too.

In the end, all that really mattered was that they had each other.


End file.
